‘According to Dr Graham, he was an Oriental male in his mid-twenties. Can you think of anyone like that Agnes Garfield might want to hurt? ’

There was a pause, then a smile spread through the wrinkles. ‘Anthony Chung. He was shagging some tart behind her back, wasn’t he? ’

‘And according to their friends, they were always fighting. Breaking up, getting back together again, having blazing rows. . .’

Steel took a long drag on her cigarette. ‘He shafts her over one time too many, she’s no’ taking her anti-nutbag pills any more, so she goes all witch-trial on his lying cheating, drug-dealing, girlfriend-beating arse. I’m no’ saying he deserved it, but still.’

‘Told you it’d cheer you up.’

‘And I told you to find her.’ Steel settled back in Logan’s office chair and folded her arms, hoiking up her bosom. ‘Don’t think you deserve your present after all.’

There was a shame.

Steel nodded at a red folder, sitting on the desk by her feet. ‘Preliminary post-mortem report. Read.’

‘Already? That was quick. . .’ He flipped the folder open and skimmed through the contents.

According to the report, Anthony had three-hundred and sixty-five stab marks all over his body, but they were only half a centimetre deep – the blade nowhere near long enough to penetrate an internal organ. And not one of them nicked a vein or artery. Slow, careful, and methodical. . . The probable cause of death was listed as ligature strangulation. So Agnes had veerited him, just like she’d veerited Roy Forman. Only this time she’d finished the job.

A colour photo was printed onto the sheet: a close-up of the wounds on Anthony Chung’s chest. Four narrow dark-purple gashes, each one sitting in the middle of a perfectly round bruise, about the size of a two-pound coin. A wobbly hand-drawn sketch showed a knife with a tiny V-shaped blade and a circular guard. Should be fairly distinctive.

Steel gave a wet flobbery sigh, then pulled out the top drawer of Logan’s desk and rummaged through the contents. She emerged with his copy of Witchfire, curled her lip and squinted at the blurb on the back of the book. ‘Our friends from Strathclyde find it “surprising and disappointing” that we’ve no’ interviewed the author yet.’

‘They think he killed Anthony Chung? ’

‘No’ him, you idiot, crazed fans.’

‘Like Agnes Garfield.’

‘Like Agnes Garfield, only different.’ Steel flipped the book open, held it out at arm’s length, and peered down her nose at the pages. ‘Any shagging in this? ’

‘Do you not have a review to be getting back to? ’

‘Comfort break. Any longer and I was going to throttle your bloody ex. “Oh, I’m such an expert on gang-related violence. Look at me with my big perky boobs. I’m so perfect because I got out of Grampian, and Strathclyde Police are so much more special and clever and—”’

‘How’s DI Bell getting on with the Chung murder? ’